“No,” Nebre said. “Nor did we see another print like the one Kaha found in the gorge.”
“Do you think…” Rona looked at Bak and Nebre. He had no need to finish the question. The glum look on their faces made it clear that they feared the watching man had lured
Dedu out of the gorge and had slain him somewhere in this vast wasteland.
Dusk was falling when three large birds, their calls loud and jarring, drew Bak’s attention. The ravens dropped out of the sky to perch on the tallest of the many craggy boulders that formed a shoulder of rock nudging the south side of the wadi. They cocked their heads, watching the men below and the world around them. Their brownish black neck feathers shone iridescent in the setting sun. Another harsh call sounded at a distance. As if summoned by the lord Set him self, they bounded into the air and streaked up the wadi to swerve into an intersecting watercourse a couple of hundred paces ahead.
When the caravan drew closer to the intersection, Bak heard more birds, their bold, demanding calls carrying across the empty landscape.
“Something has died,” Kaha said.
Bak glanced at the Medjay, whose expression was as grim as his own. “Let’s go see.”
The two men picked up their pace, told Senna where they were going, and trotted up the wadi. To their left, looking in the clear air almost close enough to touch, rose the precipi tous southern side of the massive red mountain that domi nated the Eastern Desert. The birds had flown up a narrow, steep ravine that cut into the base of the mountain. Its slopes rose steeply to either side, intimidating masses of broken and craggy red granite.
Beyond a strip of sand fifty or so paces long, the floor of the defile rose up the side of the mountain in rough and irregular steps. Some distance up and scattered on the rocks to ei ther side were twenty or more ravens. Not far below them, a huge brown-black bird flapped its long, broad wings, trying to frighten the smaller birds away. Each time it turned its back to probe among the tumble of rocks on which it stood, the ravens hopped closer, only to be chased away as before.
“The vulture doesn’t want to share,” Kaha said.
“If that’s what I fear it is, we’d better hurry.”
They ran forward, yelling and waving their arms to scare off the birds. The vulture fluttered awkwardly up the slope to watch them from a flattish boulder. The ravens darted a few steps away to settle on rocks projecting all around and to scold and watch and wait. As Bak and Kaha climbed up to where the vulture had been, they saw among the rocks the right shoulder and upper arm of a man, the flesh torn away by the sharp beak of the bird. Someone had buried him, but not well enough.
Bak handed his spear and shield to Kaha and knelt beside the dead man. He shifted a few rocks off the head.
“Who is he, sir?”
“Dedu. As we feared.” Bak remembered the guide’s denial that he knew the name of the man who had defiled his daugh ter. He regretted his failure to press for the truth. If he had done so, would Dedu still be among the living? Or had the lie been a senseless act, having nothing to do with his death?
“How was he slain, I wonder?” he asked, more to himself than to the Medjay.
He flung more rocks aside, baring Dedu’s torso. Flies swarmed over and around a bloodied wound below the guide’s breastbone. The birds had not been able to get to this part of the body. As he waved away the insects, he felt as if he were reliving the moment when first he had seen the wound of the man who had been slain at the well north of Kaine.
“He seemed a good man,” Kaha said, his voice softened by compassion.
Bak began to replace the rocks he had moved. “We weren’t very careful where we walked, but you’d better look for tracks. I’ll go to the caravan and bring back help. We must bury him here, but not on this slope where a multitude of scavengers can reach him.”
Chapter 10
After burying Dedu deep in the sand and covering him with stones, the caravan continued down the main wadi and around the red mountain. User was very quiet, speaking only when spoken to. The drovers went on with their tasks, as silent as the explorer. The loss of their incessant chatter and easy smiles, the empty space where the guide once had trod, affected everyone, and much of the time no sound could be heard but the braying of a donkey, a hoof striking a stone, or a smattering of curses when the sand was especially soft, making walking difficult.
Like everyone else, Bak walked in silence, weighted down by Dedu’s death. He could not understand why the guide had had to die. True, his death fit a pattern of sorts. Minnakht was an explorer, as was the man who had vanished almost a year earlier. The man slain north of Kaine looked to be a soldier, an archer, perhaps a man who patrolled the desert. Bak smiled grimly at himself, acknowledging a guess stretched to fit the known facts.
Dedu had served as a guide, as Nefertem’s father had, and both had traveled with explorers. Unlike the tribal chief’s parent, Dedu had not led any men or caravans through the desert for many years. What could have happened in the nine short days he had been with User that had made him a target for death?
As the sun dropped behind the red mountain, leaving the eastern slopes in shadow and the surrounding heights bathed in the hot glow of late afternoon, clouds enveloped the tops of its craggy pinnacles. Senna and the nomad drovers grew wary, constantly looking toward the hidden peaks. User mumbled something about rain.
Dusk deepened the shadows. The breeze lost its heat. The faraway roll of thunder could be heard and long spindly fin gers of lightning flickered through the clouds, reaching out to the peaks hidden among them. User suggested they look for higher ground on which they could spend the night should the wadi be inundated by floodwaters.
Bak, who had long ago witnessed a desert storm while hunting in the broken landscape west of Waset, knew the power of the torrents that infrequently filled the dry water courses, washing away everything in their path. He had also seen the wadis on the southern frontier filled with racing wa ter from storms so far away that not a cloud could be seen. He sent Nebre and Kaha on ahead to scout the hillsides and the tiny feeder wadis, telling them to seek a safe haven.
The clouds dropped lower over the mountain, enveloping the slopes below the pinnacles. The flashes of lightning drew closer, so bright they blinded the men trudging along the wadi.
The thunder was loud enough to awaken those who dwelt in the netherworld. The donkeys grew uneasy and threatened to bolt. Minmose and Rona strove to calm Bak’s string of ani mals, while Amonmose, Nebenkemet, and even Ani and
Wensu stepped in to help the drovers control User’s string.
While the gods were rampaging over the mountain, the sky above and to the south and east was twilight bright and empty of clouds. None but the moon and the most brilliant stars could outshine the firmament. The wadi was filled with an eerie yellowish glow, which drained the landscape of its reddish color. The air smelled different, clean and damp.
User, walking with Bak near the head of the caravan, pointed to three gazelles ascending a hillside farther to the north. “They fear a flood. They’re climbing to safety.”
“If my men don’t find a safe place soon, we’d better follow their example and drive the donkeys up into the rocks.”
“These storms don’t usually last for long, but they can drop a significant amount of water. With no soil or sand to absorb it, huge quantities can race down the mountainside, carrying away boulders as large as a house.”
Not to mention men and animals, Bak thought, shuddering.
The storm ended as quickly as it had begun. The lightning and thunder faded away. The clouds fragmented and scat tered, leaving a silhouette of the mountain displayed against a flaming sunset sky. The features of its pinnacles were lost in the deep shadow of dusk. The donkeys grew calmer, but their ears remained cocked and alert. Whether they sensed a threat or could feel the men’s unease, no one knew.